Complete Project Gutenberg John Galsworthy Works eBook

Then, through the window above his head, he heard
Oliver Dromore—­a voice one could always
tell, pitched high, with its slight drawl—­pleading,
very softly at first, then insistent, imperious; and
suddenly Nell’s answering voice:

“I won’t, Oliver! I won’t!
I won’t!”

He rose to go out of earshot. Then a door slammed,
and he saw her at the window above him, her waist
on a level with his head; flushed, with her grey eyes
ominously bright, her full lips parted. And he
said:

“What is it, Nell?”

She leaned down and caught his hand; her touch was
fiery hot.

“He kissed me! I won’t let him—­I
won’t kiss him!”

Through his head went a medley of sayings to soothe
children that are hurt; but he felt unsteady, unlike
himself. And suddenly she knelt, and put her
hot forehead against his lips.

It was as if she had really been a little child, wanting
the place kissed to make it well.

VII

After that strange outburst, Lennan considered long
whether he should speak to Oliver. But what
could he say, from what standpoint say it, and—­with
that feeling? Or should he speak to Dromore?
Not very easy to speak on such a subject to one off
whose turf all spiritual matters were so permanently
warned. Nor somehow could he bring himself to
tell Sylvia; it would be like violating a confidence
to speak of the child’s outburst and that quivering
moment, when she had kneeled and put her hot forehead
to his lips for comfort. Such a disclosure was
for Nell herself to make, if she so wished.

And then young Oliver solved the difficulty by coming
to the studio himself next day. He entered with
‘Dromore’ composure, very well groomed,
in a silk hat, a cut-away black coat and charming lemon-coloured
gloves; what, indeed, the youth did, besides belonging
to the Yeomanry and hunting all the winter, seemed
known only to himself. He made no excuse for
interrupting Lennan, and for some time sat silently
smoking his cigarette, and pulling the ears of the
dogs. And Lennan worked on, waiting. There
was always something attractive to him in this young
man’s broad, good-looking face, with its crisp
dark hair, and half-insolent good humour, now so clouded.

At last Oliver got up, and went over to the unfinished
’Girl on the Magpie Horse.’ Turning
to it so that his face could not be seen, he said:

“You and Mrs. Lennan have been awfully kind
to me; I behaved rather like a cad yesterday.
I thought I’d better tell you. I want
to marry Nell, you know.”

Lennan was glad that the young man’s face was
so religiously averted. He let his hands come
to anchor on what he was working at before he answered:
“She’s only a child, Oliver;” and
then, watching his fingers making an inept movement
with the clay, was astonished at himself.

“She’ll be eighteen this month,”
he heard Oliver say. “If she once gets
out—­amongst people—­I don’t
know what I shall do. Old Johnny’s no good
to look after her.”